


Never Get Involved in a Land War in Asia

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Entourage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immaculate and clean, just like an assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Get Involved in a Land War in Asia

**Author's Note:**

> Serial Karma beta'd this not once, not twice, but three times. I think she deserves a pony. Oh wait, I already bought her one. Title pinched from the beloved Princess Bride, inspired by the damn awesome Romanticalgirl, who may love Ari as much as I do. Jeremy Piven has been paraphrased," Dress like you're not following anyone's lead. Clean, immaculate. Like an assassin."
> 
> Written for aloislanz

 

 

The first time Ari Gold saw Eric Murphy he mistook him for the valet at Spago. Eric was   
short, and he was dressed badly, and he was _there_ when Ari careened up to the   
curb. Ergo, he was the valet.

In fact, the first thing Ari ever said to Eric was, "If you ding my car I will cut off your balls   
and hang them from my rearview mirror, so you can see them while I drag your still-  
bleeding ass back across the border where you belong."

Eric didn't look Mexican, but nobody looked like anybody in L.A.; that was the whole   
point of plastic surgery according to Ari's client, Sharon Stone. Sharon was an excellent   
client, not because she could act, but because she dressed like a crackhead and was   
always good for a few headlines.

Ari's favorite clients were the ones who could generate headlines by passing gas at the   
Ivy or getting caught blowing security guards at The Grove. Ari was still sending Jake   
Gyllenhaal fruit baskets for the latter.

(Not that Jake had been the one blowing the security guard, he'd actually been blowing   
his Z-List boyfriend at the time, but free press was good press in Ari's book.)

The point was that Ari had never thought of Eric as an industry kid. There were people   
who were made for entertainment: George Clooney and his Cary Grant suaveness; Tom   
Welling and his cocksucker mouth; Helen Mirren, because for an old crusty bitch, Ari   
would still fuck her; and Vinnie, because well, he was Vinnie.

So, when Vince announced that his best friend from Queens was going to come out to   
Hollywood and manage his career, Ari expected someone who was at least close to   
Vinnie in terms of hotassness and height -- instead he got Pizza Boy Murphy, who, upon   
being mistaken for the valet, jumped in Ari's Mercedes and took it for a drive around the   
block.

Of course, when Vince came out of Spago asking, "Where's E?", and the valet walked up   
three seconds later in his fire-engine red vest, Ari realized that maybe he might've made   
a mistake.

Except that Ari Gold didn't make mistakes, because he was fucking _Ari Gold_ not   
Britney "All I got from my skankilicious fake-ghetto husband was crabs and these two   
welfare babies" Spears.

So when Eric pulled up twenty minutes later with a Jamba Juice in hand, the sunroof   
down, and Jay-Z on the stereo, Ari had a few choice words for him.

He bent down, leaned in through the passenger-side window and smiled his famous "Ari   
Gold is about to fuck your mother while you watch" smile. "Motherfucker, you are a   
genital wart on Colin Farrell's herpes-laden dick and I am the dry ice that will burn your   
ass off and leave you on the floor of the Tijuana brothel where you were picked up, you   
got it, Pancho? You ever touch my ride again and I will cut you up in little pieces and   
serve you to your boyfriend like my name was Nobu."

Naturally, Ari said this all very quietly, because Vince probably would've been pissed off   
to hear his best friend being spoken to like that.

Eric hesitated for a moment -- Ari could actually see him trying to figure out if he should   
go all Queens on Ari -- and for that brief moment of respect, Ari granted him a   
temporary reprieve.

"You must be Eric," he said with a sharp grin, "I'm Ari Gold. Welcome to Hollywood."

* * *

Ari likes to call his assistants at odd hours of the day or night just to keep them on their   
toes and let them know who's in charge. He leaves them sweet little messages like, "I   
need a new Crackberry _now, Josh_ , or your mother will be identifying your body   
by its prison tattoos, and we all know Jews can't be buried in the cemetery if their bodies   
are defiled - so get this done or I'll be pissing on your unmarked grave myself."

Now that Ari has Eric to play with, he starts adding Eric to his list of people to harass   
when he has to get up and change his daughter's diaper.

What's really impressive is that the first time he calls Eric in the middle of the night,   
Eric's stupid enough to answer the phone. "Yurrrr?"

"Shortbread, do you even know the time? Are you still on your knees in the kitchen   
licking up Vinnie's jizz?"

"Ari?"

"Rule number one: If you don't know what the fuck is going on, FAKE IT. You   
_think_ it's me: but do you fucking _know_ it's me? That wrinkly valet in the   
bathroom could be Sumner Redstone, so don't tell him _Vanilla Sky_ made you   
want to stab yourself in the eyeball. That cheap hooker in the corner doing blow off a   
trannie's implanted ass? That could be Courtney Love about to stick a stiletto in your   
eye, so just smile and play along, got it? I have to go knock up the missus again, I'll talk   
to you tomorrow."

 _Click_.

* * *

"Hi."

"Hi!"

"Eric Murphy."

"I'm Eric Murphy."

"Hi, I'm Eric Murphy. I manage Vince Chase."

Eric's standing before the mirror in the men's room at Paramount, talking to himself like   
his name is Jim Carrey and he's trying to resuscitate his flagging career by pretending it   
was the _other_ Jim Carrey who chose all those worthless pieces of shit they're   
calling movies these days.

Ari's been listening to Eric practice this bullshit since he picked Vince and Eric up from   
their apartment in Los Feliz, and it's way past starting to grate. At least their new   
apartment is a lot better than the shithole they were living in off of Wilton and Sunset,   
with the cockroaches in the sink and Turtle selling weed to the neighborhood kids.

Now that Vince is off of commercials and on to supporting work things are fifty times   
better than when Ari had to let Vince shower at his house because the water had been   
turned off at Drama's apartment.

Ari's still not taking a commission on Vince's work, but if this meeting at Paramount goes   
well today, then that's all going to change, and Ari's going to want his pound of flesh and   
his discount hookers too. Plus, these cheap motherfuckers are going to start paying for   
lunch: Ari's not the fucking Red Cross.

Still, Ari can't resist practicing his own pitch. '"Hi, my name is Eric Murphy, I'm Vinnie   
Chase's butt monkey and I'm so in awe of Ari Gold I wish he would let me suck his cock   
too. Sometimes I dream that he bends me over the desk and just takes me anyway," he   
says in his chirpiest voice.

Eric makes a scoffing noise in the dimly lit bathroom, his reflection rolling its eyes in   
Ari's direction. "If you were half as fucking funny as you think you are, Ari, you wouldn't   
be doing _this_ shit for a living."

"That's where your wrong, ass muncher," Ari says cheerfully. "The funniest man on   
earth is guaranteed to be fucking miserable -- take my word for it, Dave Chappelle is   
going to do a Martin Lawrence or some shit. Me, though, -- me I can be rich, and   
gorgeous, and still go home and fuck my wife without the _National Enquirer_   
bugging my fucking alarm clock."

Eric turns around and crosses his arms. Ari told him to clean himself up for today, and   
this is what he gets: a button-down shirt and slacks. Ari's masseuse dresses better than   
this to take out the garbage. Eric scoffs. "Are you telling me that you wouldn't trade   
places with, like, Brad Pitt?"

"Have you seen the size of his pores? Fuck that noise, he doesn't wash on a regular basis.   
Jen won't even let go of his leash long enough for him to jerk off. I like myself more than   
that zit-popper does, so no."

"You expect me to believe that you wouldn't want to be rich and famous?"

"Baby, I already _am_ rich and famous." Ari has no idea why the fuck studios   
make their bathrooms look like the waiting room at Heidi Fleiss' house. The potpourri   
makes Ari want to vomit, and the last time he got a blowjob in one of these bathrooms he   
smelled like patchouli for a week. Of course, he also got George _One Fine Day_   
with Michelle Pfeiffer, so that was clearly all about taking one for the team - sometimes   
he almost misses the pre-Mrs. Ari days.

"Yeah, in your own mind," Eric says, scowling as Ari elbows him aside to check his   
reflection in the mirror.

Immaculate and clean, just like an assassin.

Perfect. Ari brushes invisible lint from the lapel of his Brioni suit. "I'm rich and famous   
in the only mind that counts: the industry mind. I know how to rule my world. I know   
how to fight my fights -- what the fuck do you know, cupcake? Do you even know how to   
_pick_ your fights? Do you even know who Vinnie's screwing right now?"

Eric's forehead furrows. "I don't care."

"Right, pull the other one, shortbread. I like it when you play with my balls."

"Go fuck yourself, Ari."

"That's what I like," Ari smirks, smacking Eric on the ass as he turns sharply on his heel   
to go back to the waiting room, "variation. Now observe the master, junior. If you get   
your tongue out of Vinnie's ass long enough to come up for air, you might learn   
something."

* * *

It's 3:18 in the morning, and Ari's awake because Mrs. Ari is up with their eldest   
daughter, Sarah. If Mrs. Ari doesn't get to sleep, neither does Ari.

So, instead of dreaming about fucking Jenny McCarthy's silicone tits, Ari's on the phone   
outside his daughter's bedroom espousing wisdom to E's pasty ass and trying not to freak   
out that his little girl has a cold.

He knows it's just a cold, but old people and kids kick the bucket because of a cough   
every day in this backwater. Maybe he should take her to the ER at Cedars-Sinai - of   
course that sort of paranoia is why Mrs. Ari kicked him out of the room in the first place.

"Rule number two, MiniMe: if you're lucky, there's always going to be someone in your   
life that's more important than what you do. You would think that's not true in a town   
where -- for $500 -- you can rent yourself a boyfriend, a girlfriend, and have change left   
over for a burrito -- but you'd be wrong. Everybody should have someone they're willing   
to go to the mat for."

"Ari, what _the fuck_ are you talking about? The only person you love more than   
yourself is your reflection."

"Shut up, Frodo. I'm serious -- you love Vinnie. I know you love him, because you even   
love his retarded extended family, and nobody would put up with Drama and Turtle   
unless the sex left them cross-eyed, so that's real love. Don't throw that away for cash."

Eric's quiet for a moment. "Anything else, Obi Wan?"

Ari peeks through the cracked door where Mrs. Ari is wiping their daughter's forehead   
with a wet washcloth. "Nah," he says before hanging up.

* * *

Ari is a carnivore. More importantly, Ari is a predator.

Ari is the great white shark in the water, smelling your paper cut and coming to rip our   
your intestines and swallow them down like Jell-o. He is the lion hiding in the tall grass   
just waiting to rip out your jugular and finger-paint with your blood.

Mrs. Ari says he has to lay off watching so much Animal Planet, but she's not the one   
who has to deal with E's stupid ass hiding behind a plant at the premiere of Vince's first   
supporting role where his name actually appears on the goddamn movie poster.

"What the fuck are you doing hiding out here like your name was Roman Polanski and   
you just fucked a fifteen year-old girl -- wait, E, are you fucking girls now?"

"Fuck you, Ari," Eric says. He's tugging on the collar of his Men's Warehouse suit, like it   
won't unravel and turn into a pile of polyester on the floor of The Sunset Room.

Coming from E, that's pretty lame. Ari's disappointed. He counts on E for his daily dose   
of verbal judo. "Why are you sulking like you just found out N'Sync split up? Is this   
about that syphilitic whore Kristen?"

Eric frowns. "How do you know about Kristen?"

"Everybody knows about Kristen, she was fucking my gardener in the bushes when I left   
home today, E."

Eric doesn't even seem that phased, which is bad. Ari counts on being able to annoy E   
just to relieve his own stress -- sometimes it's better than a good lotus position. "Fudge   
packer, if you don't get out there and make my money like the trick I know you are, I will   
cut you. I have a switchblade in my shoe," he prods.

Eric downs the rest of the champagne in his flute and drops it in the flower pot of the   
bush he's hiding behind. "I can't go out there," he confides after a moment. "This is   
Vince's big chance, this could be his break, what if I fuck it up? What if I say the wrong   
thing to the wrong guy? I heard about what happened when Jenna Elfman went all   
Scientologist wackjob."

Playing therapist makes's Ari's dick go soft, but E actually seems genuinely distressed.   
"First of all, in this town we don't talk about the Scientologists unless we want a   
psychological analysis, so stop whining like your name was Renee Zellweger and get the   
fuck on with it."

"Ari, I'm serious."

"Do you really think I'd let you fuck up my two year investment with your salad-tossing   
minimum-wage ass? You are not going to fuck up Vinnie's career because you're not   
going to say 'boo' to fucking anybody, you got it? Tonight you are Vinnie's date, you   
smile, you look pretty, and you don't say a fucking thing except 'where do you want it,   
and should I bend over further,' you got it?"

Eric glowers at Ari, which is a vast improvement from their moment of sharing. "Fuck   
you, Ari."

Ari just claps him on the shoulder and grins. "Aw, E, you say the sweetest things."

* * *

The morning after Vinnie wraps shooting on _Jumping the Shark_ , his first   
leading role, and Viggo Mortensen's directing debut, Ari's sitting on the floor of the   
bathroom at Sky Bar hiccupping and trying to remember his own name. Eric's sitting   
next to him, plastered against the wall like the world is moving and he wants to get off.

Every couple of minutes Turtle vomits into the john and Drama moans where he's   
sprawled out on the floor. Ari taps Eric's leg to get his attention. "Rule number three:   
Never get involved in a land war in Asia."

Ari's voice echoes against the wall and he winces. Why did he think chugging Patrón was   
a good idea? _Why_? Eric sniffs next to him. "What the fuck are you talking   
about now, Ari? We're not in Asia."

Ari closes his eyes and tries to remember why he's quoting his daughter's favorite movie.   
He opens them again when the room starts to move even faster. "Do you know what   
happened to Napoleon when he tried to take over Russia? He got his ass frozen out.   
Never ever bite off more than you can chew, E, otherwise you'll end up with your head in   
a toilet like Turtle."

"Go blow yourself, Ari," Turtle retorts feebly.

"You first, cocksucker," Ari replies automatically.

"I ain't no cocksucker," Turtle insists belatedly.

Drama mutters something about victory against the floor.

"I think Drama disagrees," Ari says.

Turtle decides to be sick again instead of replying.

If Ari had enough coordination he'd call Vince and tell him to stop banging whatever   
starlet he's with upstairs and come and get them. Instead he just waits for this to pass.

* * *

Tonight is the premiere of _Jumping the Shark_. Ari is not nervous. Ari is not   
nervous. He's spent the day at peace with himself by going through the Warrior poses in   
his office and then sacking his assistant, rehiring him, and then sacking him again just to   
give himself something to do.

He feels good. He is money. He just has to do one little thing, which is why he's called E   
to his office.

"Where's Josh?" E asks, waltzing into Ari's office.

Eric's wearing his de rigueur polo shirt and khakis, and it makes Ari's soul hurt. Three   
years of industry training and E still has no idea how to dress. Gay men around the   
world are crying and don't know why. "I fired him," Ari says.

Eric drops down on the sofa and picks up today's _Variety_. "Again?"

"Twice today - it's good for tension," Ari explains.

E rolls his eyes. "You know this is going to come back and bite you on the ass."

"You can bite me on the ass if you want," Ari smirks.

"I'll pass."

"That's not what I heard," Ari sing-songs.

"Whatever, Ari, why am I here?"

"Because we have to run over a few things before tonight."

"What's there to run over? It's a premiere. We go, we drink--"

"You hide behind the foliage."

"That happened _one time_!"

"Blow it out the other end, Lucky Charm," Ari says getting out of his chair to move   
around his desk.

Eric looks up from _Variety_ with an eyebrow raised when Ari leans against the   
front of his desk and clears his throat. "Yeah?"

"Listen up," Ari commands, "because things are about to change a lot. Tonight and from   
now on, you are not the fucking date, you are the manager. You may be sucking Vinnie's   
cock, but that doesn't matter to those bloodsuckers on the red carpet. If you show   
weakness they will cut out your kidneys and sell them to buy martinis at The Mondrian.   
Tonight, you're going to learn how to earn your salary. You're going to manage your   
client, but more importantly you're going to manage _yourself_ and your   
relationship with your client."

"How about I manage my cock up your ass, Ari," Eric retorts.

"Maybe if you were taller. I don't think you could hit my prostate just the way I like it."

"Oh, is that why Mrs. Ari was buying that strap-on at Hustler the other day?"

"Don't talk about my wife," Ari says mildly.

"Oh, but you can talk about me taking it up the ass from Vince?"

"Hey, I just said you suck cock, if your ass is feeling a little loose, I heard they have all   
kinds of surgery for that shit, maybe I'll suggest Vinnie get you one for Christmas. I   
mean that's what Leprechauns celebrate right?"

"Fuck you, Ari," Eric glares, but he's dropped the _Variety_ and Ari can see he's   
actually paying attention. It's only taken forever.

"Aw, baby, you always know the sweetest things to say. So seriously, enough foreplay,   
there's this film, _Head On_. It's with Jessica 'I may be a bitch, but you still want   
to fuck me' Alba." Ari takes a moment to savor the attention he can feel pouring off of   
Eric in waves.

Whether it's E, or his wife, or Vince, or anybody else, Ari was born to be the center of   
everything, and he knows it. More importantly, he knows how to milk it. His timing   
makes the military jealous - and now seems like a good time to drop the bomb. "They're   
want to put Vince above the title," he adds blithely.

He's already done his victory dance, and now he can see Eric planning his own.

"No shit," Eric says, "really?"

"No, I'm just fucking with you dumbass. When the hell did you sub your brains for   
fucking meatballs? Jesus Christ. Never fuck with a man's money, his wife, or his balls --   
unless he asks you to -- got it, junior? Now stick with me and you might actually learn   
something."

"You mean like how to be an asshole?"

Ari laughs. "Nah, I think I've already taught you that."

-end-

 

 

 


End file.
